


a little more poise than that

by everAcclimating



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Arranged Marriage, Festivals, M/M, Romance, Stabbing, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29058261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everAcclimating/pseuds/everAcclimating
Summary: Your name is [REDACTED] Strider, and you're trying to get away from an arranged marriage.So you take up with the famous pirate John Harley.Nothing can possibly go wrong.
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	a little more poise than that

“You’ll grow to love him over time,” your father had said, in a way that implied that’s not how it worked for him, but he sucked it up to make friends with his (now deceased) wife, so you can get used to it too. Then he’d left the room, leaving you unable to argue with servants that were cooing and fawning over how beautiful you’d look in your dress with your hair done up perfectly, and it made you feel like you were going to vomit all over the white satin and lace. You can’t fight it, you can’t back out of it, and you know for a fact the man you’re meant to marry is a fiend and a bastard but he’s powerful and that’s what your father wants to tie himself to. It disgusts you and forces you to live a life you never wanted to live as someone you can’t possibly be happy being. You’ll be stuck your entire life living a lie with a man you hate, having children you inevitably resent because of what they represent, and die young because you can’t take it anymore. That’s not what you want, that’s never what you wanted, and you’re tired.

So you just fucking leave.

That evening you chop off all your hair with the sharpest knife you can find and climb out your window with a single rucksack on your back and clothes you stole from your brother Dave, and things change. You knew things were going to change, but not in what way. Your father will be furious, your siblings supportive, but you don’t even stop to tell them you’re going, just flee before you can be caught.

You leave and you go out into the crowds in the town square because a festival is going on and you list toward sailors, men you’ve met when your father was doing dealings with them. You start out asking all fake and demure, gently urging them to listen to you and take you away. “Please,” you say, “I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. I’ll do anything.” Anything. You emphasize  _ anything  _ as hard as you can, just to get your point across even though the thought makes your stomach turn.

The first man, grizzled and bearded and one-eyed and known for the speed of his ship, laughs in your face. “You’re the Strider girl, ain’t you?” He says, and you visibly wince but he doesn’t seem to notice. “No way, no how. Your father’d have me strung up by next week.” He turns away before you can even beg harder.

You move on to the next captain, young and reckless and sharp, and ask him. “Would you take me,” you murmur, looking at him through your lashes and trying another tactic. “I’d help around the ship, help you, anything you needed.”

He doesn’t laugh, but he runs his tongue over his teeth and looks away. “I’d like to,” he says, and you already know the answer. “But your father runs everything around here. You know that. I can’t just lock myself out of the biggest trade port in the country, I’m sorry.”

He at least  _ sounds _ sorry. You swallow, take a deep breath, and nod. You’ll find someone eventually. You know it. The festival is full of sea captains, surely one will be moved enough by your plight to agree.

But as the night draws on and you get refusal after refusal, grown-ass men turning down pleading from a pretty face like yours all because they’re afraid of your father locking them out of trade in the town or passing retribution on.

It’s a fair fear, worrying that the baron over the town would block their trade for such a transgression, but it leaves you dead in the water. You briefly contemplate  _ becoming _ dead in the water now instead of in fifteen years, and wouldn’t that be poetic? That’d really show your father. Ruin his day.

You don’t do it, but the thought is tempting.

You keep trying instead, promising wilder and wilder outcomes for someone, anyone to take you away. There’s one captain you’ve heard of but never met that you’re wary of asking simply because you think if he tells you no, that will be the last straw. You’ll give up.

Captain John Harley is famous. He’s known for his ship the  _ Jailbird _ and his colorful crew—there are accusations of piracy every so often, but nothing sticks for some reason. It’s like nothing can keep him shackled.

You wish you were the same way, but you’re stuck. Burdened like something heavy pulls at your heart, your limbs, your entire being. You at least had your siblings before, some dedicated servants knowing how to let you sneak around unseen but now it’s just you and you’ve exhausted every avenue you can think of but Captain Harley himself. You sit heavily on a bench at the fringes of the festivities, wondering what your father will do when he sees your hair because by now you’ll inevitably come crawling back.

You’re hunched over with your fingers flexing over and over as you try to figure out what to do when you hear a voice in front of you. “There you are,” it says, chipper and bright, and you think it’s one of your father’s men being happy about finding you, but when you raise your head you’re confronted with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life and your breath catches in your throat. Here it comes.

“It’s very kind of you to come and tell me no so I don’t have to come find you and make a fool of myself,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, “everyone else told me no and so are you, I understand. I get it without the intervention of you popping up to tell me directly.” You sound very bitter, but who wouldn’t by now?

“Tell you no? I don’t know about that. I was going to ask you for a dance before the night ends. I thought to myself,  _ John, if you don’t dance with that beautiful boy before you set sail, your whole trip’s been wasted _ , but it’s like you were avoiding me all night! I promise I’m not a bad dancer.”

_ Beautiful boy _ makes something in your chest tighten and you’re so startled by it that you flush, leaning back on the bench and staring at him with wide eyes. “— _ that's _ what you want? You're not here to tell me you won't take me out of port because if you take me out of port my father will never let you back to dock here, no it doesn't matter how hard I beg, no it doesn't matter how much money I have to give you, no, it doesn't matter that I'll do anything, fucking  _ anything _ , to get out of here? Everyone—they all told each other. So they all knew to say no as soon as I looked at them.” You’re ashamed of the outburst, but you still can’t stop it from coming.

John, you think of him as John because that’s his name, smiles. “Oh, I’ve been single minded all night, so I didn’t listen to a thing they were telling me because I was too focused on you. If you want on my ship though, all you have to do is ask. Of course I’ll take you! Anywhere you want to go, I don’t mind at all.”

You believe him. You believe he was trying to find you all night just to dance with you. You believe he’ll take you away, just like that, because his charisma is so strong, and you stare at him a moment longer before you open your mouth to speak and—

—abruptly burst into tears.

He seems briefly alarmed, afraid to touch you, so his hands hover over your shoulders and don’t touch you and you’re ashamed, because beautiful boys don’t cry, they smile and accept a dance with a sea captain graciously. That’s what you’re thinking when he speaks again, tipping your head up and running his thumb over your cheek to wipe away some tears. “You’ve had a hard time of it, haven’t you? Don’t worry, we’ll get you out.”

“I can pay you,” tumbles out of your mouth like all the rest, “work for you, anything. Anything you want.”

He smiles and shrugs with one shoulder, letting you go which you appreciate because if you go any redder you’ll catch on fire. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll take a dance as payment. And you know where there’s an even better festival? A port a three days’ sail away. They have the best musicians around, and it’ll be on when we get there, and I’ll collect my dance then. How does that sound? You can make a new start there.”

You nod dumbly because you don’t know what else to do, and risk the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life because it may end all of this before it starts. “Are you sure? My father will never let you back in this port as long as you live.”

John shrugs, still all smiles. “I could never forgive myself if I left you here. If that means we have to find different ports, then so be it.” You think you’re in love.

“I—alright. Alright, let’s go.” As you speak, you notice some of your father’s men rounding a corner and you recoil away but John seems to notice it and grabs your hand, tugging you to your feet and taking off at a run.

“It’s a good thing I’ll be collecting that dance later, because we don’t have time now!” John’s laughing, and you almost laugh too but you can’t quite yet because you’re too scared. He pulls you through the crowd, weaving in and out and making sure no one catches up to you, bowling through couples dancing and you finally do laugh, breathlessly, as he shouts while you near the pier, “Go, go, get going!” to some of his crew that are leaning over the edge and they start pulling anchor and preparing to leave and they’re so  _ fast _ that they’re already pulling away by the time you get there and you have to jump and scrabble the last distance up the side of the ship as it’s making its grand escape.

You stumble and almost fall but John yanks you onboard and you’re still laughing as your father’s men skid to a stop at the end of the pier, shouting obscenities and unable to do anything fast enough to get hold of you again. They can’t shoot because if they hit you your father will kill them, so they’re stuck. You know they’ll be reluctant to tell your father they failed, so you have some time to get away.

John’s still holding your hand.

You straighten and look at him, eyes wide as everything finally sinks in. You’re free. You’re free. You could kiss him in thanks, but he laughs and grins and leans close. “What’s your name, handsome? I never asked while we were back there, but I have to introduce you to everyone some way.”

A name. You’ve never thought of a name in all your years of hoping you’d escape, and you think and think and your mind settles on the knife you cut your hair with. You consider, and end up with— “—Dirk,” you say finally in a rush of breath, quiet and reverent in a way that doesn’t suit just telling someone your name.

John fucking  _ beams _ and draws your hand up, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of it, and then again to your knuckles. You don’t think you’ve ever blushed this hard in your life. No one’s ever treated you this way. You turn your hand just slightly in his grasp so that it allows you to gently brush the pads of your fingers across his cheek. It’s as bold as you’re willing to get right now, but you’re searching for confirmation because you think you’re in love. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dirk! Do you meet everyone this way?”

“The pleasure’s all mine. But no,” you admit, looking at him and feeling something you don’t understand yet, “only you.”

“I feel privileged then!” he’s fluttering his eyelashes just a little and you finally realize it’s not just about the dance, he’s definitely flirting with you for real, and you don’t know what to do with that even though that’s what you wanted in the first place. No one you’ve ever  _ wanted _ has flirted with you before, so it’s new and a little scary.

“You should,” you manage, smiling in a way you hope is mysterious and a little coy. “And now you’re stuck with me, at least until you get that dance.”

“And maybe past that, if you need another ride! I am wholly and entirely at your service, of course.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to offer a spoiled boy like me, John Harley,” you offer back, easing into flirting properly for the first time and not just giving the barest touch of fingers in a sign of interest. “I may take more than you’re willing to give.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says with that grin still in place, “You have a good face. I think I can trust you.”

“What makes you think that? What’s so good about my face?” You’re skeptical.

“You have a good smile!” He’s beaming to match it, but you raise your eyebrows at that.

“That’d be a first,” you say, arms crossing over your chest.

“It’s sweet,” he counters, “and bright. I have a good eye for these things. I know a good man when I see one.”

That makes your chest tighten so painfully in joy that you’re struck breathless a moment. “How can I argue that,” you gasp out, hoping he doesn’t think you’re strange for your reaction.

“You can’t,” he says knowingly, “because I’m the captain, and my word is inarguable.”

“I’m glad you think so at least, because I was running out of time back there.” John tilts his head at that, and you continue before he can ask. “Arranged marriage, you understand. I was being dragged to the altar, essentially. My wedding was supposed to have been tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he says, and his brow briefly furrows. “It would have been much more dramatic to steal you from the church, wouldn’t it? Stylish. But it would have put you through more trouble, so I suppose it’s better this way.”

You snort, shaking your head. “I think our current flight was perfect. You may have been hurt by my father if you tried that, and I would never have forgiven myself if my dashing savior was harmed.”

John perks up a bit, nodding. “I suppose you’re right! The drama is appealing, but the danger isn’t. Either way, I’m glad you’re with us. Now that you’re aboard the  _ Jailbird _ , would you like to meet the rest of the crew?”

Oh. Oh yes. “Of course,” you say, a little too wide-eyed, and he takes you off to meet everyone.

The first is Karkat, John’s First Mate, short and broad with dark skin and pure white hair. He’s gruff, and loud, but you think he’s kind underneath it. “Of course John picked up the first imperiled person he came across,” he says, “that’s how the entire crew came about. Welcome to the floating idiot wagon.”

You laugh, and it feels like home.

The rest of the evening feels like a montage of meeting people, snippets of scenes from a novel that you would never have dared to read where anyone could see you. The crew is something else entirely, and John introduces you to all of them. It’s bright and overwhelming, and by the time the evening is done you feel aching and tired.

“I want to help around here,” you say once you’re settled in for the night in a bunk and John stands before you, smiling like he knows something you don’t. “I don’t want to just sit here taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Weeell,” John starts, dragging out the vowel just a little, “what do you like to do? What are you good at? We can find a place for you!”

“I like building things,” you start, cowed in the face of his enthusiasm, “I’m good at it. I’ve always been good at it.” That at least you’re confident about.

John seems to consider this, then nods. “You can work down below with Equius and Nepeta on maintenance and repairs if you like, then. I think it’d be a good fit for you. Really though, you don’t have to! A three day trip doesn’t cost a drop in a bucket. You’re already over-paying me with that dance. I hardly deserve it.”

It’s a kind offer, but you’re tired of sitting around so you shake your head. “I want to,” you say, already aching from the thought of leaving even though John offered to take you anywhere you wanted. You don’t want it to end _ at all _ is the problem. “I want to help.” Maybe if you help enough, you really will stay on forever.

For now John nods, and his fingers ghost the messy cut of your hair. You lean into it unconsciously and he smiles. It looks almost longing, but you’re probably projecting. “You can start tomorrow, then. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest.”

When he leaves, you hunker down in the bunk and try to sleep. When you finally do, you dream of him, and that aches too when you wake up tousled and less rested than you’d like.

John takes you down below again after everyone’s eaten and you see your new workmates again. Equius’ hand is heavy on your shoulder but you weather it, looking up at him as he speaks. “It would behoove us to take care of you,” he says, and you puff up a little, bolstered, as he continues. “We’ll put you to work, of course, we keep tight reins on this ship, but it’ll never be anything you can’t handle.”

“I can handle a lot,” you say, shrugging, and he almost smiles.

Nepeta is a lot more overwhelming than Equius is, because she’s a ball of energy. “You’re purrfect for this role,” she enthuses once you really get to work, her large cat curling around the back of her neck, “you really have a mind for these kinds of things! Having three sets of hands makes things easier.” Then she pauses, leaning in closer to you, eyes glinting. “Tell me all about your thoughts on our captain,” she murmurs, “because I saw how you looked at him. I want all the details.”

You thought you couldn’t blush harder earlier, but you were wrong. You can  _ feel _ your cheeks heating up.

_ He’s nice, I like him _ , you want to say, but you open your mouth and “I love him,” comes out instead.

Equius and Nepeta share a knowing look, and it makes you wonder long into the night once you’ve turned in and sleep eludes you. It continues to elude you until the break of dawn whereupon you get out of bed and go back to work. The chatter is normal and you enjoy losing yourself in it, and they tactfully don’t mention your faux pas of the previous day.

The rest of the three-day trip happens to be uneventful, quiet even, though as you get settled among everyone there seems an air of consideration surrounding you. You wonder about this too, worrying too much about things, hyper-analysing everything you’ve said trying to examine where you might have gone wrong in every single social interaction you’ve had aboard.

(Everyone likes you, but your brain refuses to recognize that as possible and instead assumes people find you tiring or annoying.)

As you near the port town where you’re meant to share a dance with John and then part ways, your mood sinks and sours but you hide it well, wearing a smile. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but no one questions you about it. You’re both glad and disappointed at once.

Once you’ve dropped anchor, John looks at you and tilts his head. “The festival won’t truly begin until tonight, but the shopkeepers and vendors will have set up. We frequent this town, would you like me to show you around?”

That sounds awfully like a date to you but you don’t want to say that aloud so you just nod, fingers brushing his wrist this time, wishing to grasp but not daring. “I’d like that,” you confirm, “I’d like to know my way around the place.”

“Right,” John says, and you could swear he sounds briefly disappointed before his smile returns in full force, “so you don’t get lost once we’re gone. I’ll show you all over! I make a good guide, you know. I can show you all the best spots.”

You nod again, forgetting you just did, and this time your fingertips graze his sleeve. “I’d like that. Show me everything.”

As if he could read your mind, or at least your faltering touches, he grabs your hand and squeezes it, then tugs you toward the gangplank. “Let’s go! We’ll make a day of it.”

You follow him easily and he takes you to the square, to the alleys, to the streets, showing you this detail or that hole in the wall shop and on and on until your head is spinning. He’s so  _ good _ at it that you retain everything easily, it’s just a lot at once and a little over-stimulating. You’re still coming down from that when he stops at a particular stall, looking over the wares.

“Let me get you a gift,” he says suddenly.

“But you were the one that saved me, and I owe you so much, why would you need to give me a gift? I—” but he shakes his head and winks.

“Let me do this thing for you, I want to. It has no bearing on the price.” He’s looking past you and you follow his gaze to a beautiful sky blue coat, finer even than the ones your brother would wear back home. It reminds you of John’s eyes. You nod, struck dumb, and he speaks to the owner of the stall and suddenly John’s helping you into it, his hands lingering briefly on your shoulders, and it fits you like it was made for you precisely and you turn in a slow circle, then tilt your head at him.

“How do I look?” You’re self-conscious, it’s the first piece of clothing that was meant for you and bought with you in mind that wasn’t a frock of some kind.

John  _ beams _ . “You look perfect,” he breathes out, and your face heats up once again as he pays for it.

“I want to get you something too,” you say suddenly, “but I don’t know what yet. We have to walk around more so that I can spot something.”

He startles. “You don’t have to get me something in return,” he says, “it’s just that I saw that and thought it perfect for you.”

“And I’ll see something perfect for you,” you reply, with affected haughtiness, and off you go.

You finally spot it at a jeweler, hanging on a display and you stop so quickly that John keeps going and almost yanks your arm off on accident. “That,” you say, and gesture the proprietor over. “That one, please. I want that one.”

The man nods and takes your money and you turn toward John, showing it to him. Now it’s his turn to flush but he nods, swallowing. You’ve not seen him this flustered even once. “That’s too fine a gift,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“You saw what was perfect for me, I saw what was perfect for you. It’s that simple. Let me put it on you.”

He turns and you carefully put the necklace around him and clasp it at his nape, fingertips brushing the skin a little too familiarly. He touches the pendant and turns toward you, smiling. “How do I look?”

His parroting of your earlier question isn’t lost to you and you smile, reaching out to touch the necklace as well. It’s a beautiful amber stone set in gold and it matches your eyes like the coat you’re now wearing matches his. “Perfect,” you breathe, and he’s about to say something else when music starts in earnest in the square, louder than the day’s ambient noise.

“It’s time for that dance,” John says, and his insistent tugging leads you out to where others are congregating. It’s a whirlwind of activity and you feel awe-struck by it—it’s far more lively than the festival back home, and you love it.

You’ve always bristled at being led in dances for reasons you feel are obvious to you and you alone but falling into letting him lead comes easily. He’s a good dancer but so are you and you can’t help but just lean into his lead like you’re meant to fit together.

He only asked for one dance but you keep going on, surrounded by couples and bright revelry as you soar through each song as though the night will never end. Finally, during a later dance as the night winds down, he tugs you in close against him and you breathe out slowly, looking at him and not daring to hope.

It’s not until the crescendo of the song that he leans in and kisses you and you feel like the world is exploding behind your eyelids as your eyes slip closed and you press into it as though a drowning man at sea begging for air to keep him alive. Your hands flutter at his shoulders before pressing in, keeping yourself grounded before you float away entirely.

“I’ve been waiting three days to do that,” he admits, “I couldn’t do it until you had space to leave. I didn’t want to make you think you were obligated while you were stuck on the ship with me.”

Instead of answering verbally you kiss him again, grasping him so tightly you can’t feel your fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind though because he keeps kissing you— “Stay on forever,” he says, just as you say “let me stay on forever.”

He laughs and it sounds like tinkling bells to your ears as he picks you up and spins you around, sending the hem of your coat fluttering in the wake of your movement. “Of course,” he says, just as you say “of course,” and this time both of you laugh.

You spend the rest of the evening even more glued together than before, holding hands and stealing kisses and ducking behind stalls and down alleys to lean into one another in solitude. That night when you return to the ship and step aboard Feferi, the literal princess of the crew in bright silks and gauzes, gives you a knowing look and you just shrug in response, giving her a sheepish smile.

You’re not looking forward to parting ways for the night but as you’re set to tell him goodnight his hand settles at your wrist and you pause to let him speak. “It’ll be cramped, but you can stay with me,” he says, careful, “I don’t want to pressure you, though.”

Your heart beats so hard in your chest that it pains you but you nod, swallowing a spike of anxiety you can’t quite shake. “Alright,” you say, softer than you intend, and John cups your cheek instead.

“I promise to be a gentleman,” he says, smiling as though he can sense your unease, “let me show you to your new quarters.”

The captain’s room is both office and sleep berth, as it always is on ships like this, and it  _ is _ small in the sleeping area department but it seems as though he’s jury-rigged up a cot next to it to give a little more space to spread out. You give him a look, eyebrow raising, and he chuckles in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “I had my hopes up,” he admits, and you let out a rough laugh as you grip his chin and kiss him.

“Of course you did,” you tease him, some of your earlier fears forgotten, “you’re too charming.”

As you settle in to sleep you’re more comfortable than you’ve ever felt in your life despite the nature of the bedding, resting against John with his arms around you and hands resting at the small of your back. It’s warm and settled and you sleep easy, breathing against his neck and tucking in under his chin.

The festival is three days long and you contemplate this in the morning as the sunbeams from the window wake you. It seems everything in your lives is coming in threes, and you don’t mind it. A three day journey, a three day festival. You wonder briefly what will come next in your sets of three, but you set the thought aside for the most part.

It’s when you’re up on deck dressed to head out to the revelry again and waiting patiently that it hits you. John drops to one knee and you’re confused and startled, wondering if something is wrong, but he just smiles and takes your hands and looks up at you with such adoration that your heart leaps into your throat. “Dirk,” he says, beaming, “will you marry me?” Your eyes widen further and he continues. “I knew from the moment I saw you that if I let you slip through my fingers I’d be a fool.”

You’re so overwhelmed that you drop down in front of him, wrenching your hands free so you can grip his face and kiss him. Nepeta whoops in the background but you barely hear her because you’re too busy pulling back just enough to whisper against his mouth. “Yes,” you say, breathless from the mere thought of it, “yes, yes.”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate the connotations of a ring,” he says, looking sheepish as you draw back to look at him, “or I would have gotten one.” You appreciate that John’s not slotting you into the woman’s spot in that way, and you kiss him again before standing and urging him up with you.

“When?” It’s a simple question, but you’re ready instantly.

He laughs, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. “The best point would be as the festival ends, wouldn’t it be? I have to find someone in particular beforehand. I know captains can officiate, but I’m not sure a captain can officiate for himself.”

You’re about to suggest that first mates can take the captain’s place, but you realize he has someone in particular in mind so you just nod, leaning into his touch like a flower to the sun. “Alright,” you say, sounding as overwhelmed as you are, “at the end of the festival.”

Your third three: a three-day engagement.

The festival goes just as you could possibly wish. It’s fun and bright and the most free and relieved you’ve ever felt in your life. Everyone knows John and everyone wants to know you, and early on the third day of the festival you realize just why John was so insistent on finding one person in particular.

John Harley has a grandfather named Jake Harley, who is loud and charming and has a very respectable mustache. Jake Harley is as famous a sailor as his grandson and you're not sure how you didn't realize that sooner. He's also  _ very _ handsome, but you’re too in love with his grandson to think much about it other than to use that fact to consider how your future husband will look when you’re older. The thought makes you blush and John seems to realize what you’re doing and laughs, nudging you gently in the side.

“Grandfather, this is Dirk Strider,” he says, confident as anything, “and we’re going to be married.”

“A handsome choice,” Jake says, and you flush more at the approval, “I take it you need me?”

Astute, too. John nods, and you feel suddenly shyer than you’ve ever felt. “We want you to officiate,” he says, and Jake reaches out with a grin to ruffle John’s hair.

“Of course,” he says, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

With that settled you can go back to enjoying the festival for the rest of the day. Your wedding will be in the evening as the sun sets and the lights flicker on around town, and it will be perfect.

You get ready in separate rooms on the ship as the sky turns pink and you’re fitting your coat in front of a mirror when the door creaks open and John’s head pokes in, hair wild as always. He seems harried for the first time though, and you turn to look at him. “Yes?”

“Before we marry,” he starts, “I have a question to ask you. Your attraction to men…” You pause and become very still because you don’t know or like where this is going, “Is it based on physical attributes?”

You think about this a moment and you feel like John has realized what you foolishly never told him, imagining a world where it never mattered how they called you when you were born. You swallow and glance away before speaking. “I’d be a fool if my only means of attraction were to someone’s body,” you say carefully, but that just makes John look more desperate. You’ve never seen him like this and it worries you more than anything.

“Dirk, please, I need a forthright answer,” he says, and even his voice sounds strained.

You feel cold fear pooling in your gut, but you shake your head no. “No,” you finally murmur, “I shouldn’t think that sort of thing matters in the least.”

John’s shoulders slump and he nods. “I forgot to tell you,” he says, and you blink in confusion because this isn’t what you’re expecting. “That I wasn’t born with, well, the proper equipment. I was so caught up in being in love with you that I didn’t consider it.”

You bark out a laugh and cover your mouth so suddenly that he looks pained until you drop them and speak. “Neither was I,” you say, the coil in your stomach dissipating like so much fog in the morning sun. “So we had the same predicament all along.”

This time when he beams it lights up the whole room. “Perfect,” he says, the chipper note back in his voice, “perfect. I’ll let you finish getting ready. You’re breathtaking, by the way.” Then he’s gone before you can reply and you’re left alone to catch your breath.

You’re in your sky blue coat and John is in his amber necklace as you stand before Jake aboard his ship, both crews standing about to watch. He himself is in a smart green coat that matches his eyes but you’re not thinking of that. You breathe and so does John and the ceremony begins as you join hands together.

The vows aren’t the most traditional, but you don’t mind. “Do you each take this man,” Jake says, and you dream of what it would be like to have a supportive father figure like John, who seems used to being treated like he deserves. But Jake continues, “to hold onto no matter how hard the winds blow or where they may take you? To anchor yourselves to one another in all manners of life, be they joyous or trials?”

“Yes,” you both say at once, and Jake laughs. It’s a nice sound.

“Do you also swear to be kind to one another, to be loving, to give only what the other deserves, to take port together and keep yourselves buoyant on one another’s love?” He’s winding up, you think, but you nod this time.

“Yes,” you once again speak in tandem, and this time Jake smiles knowingly.

“If you agree to all these things,” he says, taking your hands and tying them together with a silken scarf in a knot symbolizing your marriage, “then I pronounce you married in the eyes of the sea and sky.”

You don’t even wait for him to tell you that you can kiss before you’re turning toward John and kissing him, your free hand lifting to palm the side of his neck while he slings an arm around your waist. There’s cheering, of course—even Karkat joins in and there’s a shower of petals as Feferi and Jade toss them into the air to let them flutter down around you.

It’s very beautiful, and very romantic, and you’ve never been happier.

Jake claps you on the shoulder later, giving it a squeeze and leaning a little closer. “Take care of him,” he says, and you look at him and nod. “He’s light as the breeze, but he needs a grounding force. Can I trust you to do a bang-up job of it?”

You lift a hand to grasp his arm and nod. “Of course,” you murmur, and Jake lets out a laugh and slaps your back so hard you almost stumble.

“Perfect! That’s what I like to hear. I believe you’ll care for him with gusto.” He’s so charming and boisterous that you can see where John got it. It makes you fond of the older captain, and you suppose that’s good because he’s your family now.

The thought of  _ that _ makes you feel shaky and overwhelmed. Your siblings have always been supportive, but your father… Well, to say the least, having a man like Jake in your life is sorely needed. Even though Jake is as flighty as his grandson and plans to ship out in the morning, he spends the evening and night celebrating with the both of you.

It’s a good feeling, and after a few glasses of good drink and hours of talking in excited tones you and John both retire to your quarters to the whoops and hollers of everyone around you. You’re both warm with love and with drink and you fall into bed together, grasping at one another and urging your mouths together and tasting the wine on each other’s lips.

John peels off your coat and your shirt as though he’s unwrapping a gift and you return the favor, feeling shy and like you don’t know what to do with yourself. You think you’d be worse off if you two weren’t the same, and both of you finally take off the tight bindings as you urge close and breathe into one another’s mouths.

John takes charge, which you don’t mind. You press tight and breathe one another’s air and often dissolve into happy laughter at one another’s awkward inexperience and it’s enough.

It’s all enough. You’re blissfully happy for the first time in your life and you depart the town full of love and contentment. It’s a short jaunt to another town along the way where John has to do some actual business and he’s going to bring you along because he doesn’t like being away from you for very long but that’s fine because you don’t like being away from him long either.

You arrive in port three days after your wedding and you’re still in the phase of learning one another better, finding new things about each other to enjoy and adore. Everyone on board has been teasing you both for days but it’s in good fun—even Karkat’s grumbling is fond.

This town is more a city than the last, large and bustling, and as you step onto dry land once more it’s with a way of grounding yourself you’ve never had before.

John’s business goes well and you sneak kisses between stops, cupping each other’s faces and drawing each other close. No one bothers you, no one asks questions, and most people that know John congratulate him on his catch. Several congratulate you on your catch as well, and there’s a tinge of jealousy there in some of them, but John doesn’t seem to notice it.

In any case the trip is going well and you’re heading down a side street to get back to the ship for the night when you’re stopped by two men blocking your path. You’re about to simply shoulder past them when you recognize them as some of your father’s men, men who would have been sent out to find you, men who are known to do anything to get the job done. You grasp John’s arm and draw him back as you start to run, but you realize just too late that you haven’t seen the  _ other _ two of the little gang when they appear in front of you to block your retreat as well.

Their leader, Spades Slick, is tall and lean and stands before you, single eye staring you down. He doesn’t smile, but he does speak. “You know why we’re here,” he says, and he uses a name you wish you’d never heard again, that you wish John never heard at all.

You shake your head and square your shoulders. “You’re too late,” you say, trying to sound braver than you feel, “I’m already married. John and I got married days ago.”

“Who officiated?” He says it slowly, and cold dread starts to fill you. “Was it a captain? You know that’s not binding.” When he smiles now it’s more of a grimace, and you shake your head, building up the lie before you even open your mouth.

“We got married in a church in the last town,” you spit out, words acrid on your tongue, “Our marriage is real and absolute.”

You’re hemmed in between all of them and you can tell John is trying to find a way out, but he’s coming up blank. “He’s right,” John says finally, full of bravado you can’t possibly feel, “You’re too late. You can’t take him back now, he belongs with me and my crew.”

Spades takes a look at you, takes a look at John, and shrugs. “Well,” he says, “‘til death do you part.” You see the glint of the blade just too late, because as he finishes the sentence he stabs John deep in the gut.

His grip on your arm loosens as he drops to his knees, and you scream as you’re snatched and dragged bodily away from the scene.

When you woke up this morning you had no idea that your next three would culminate in your husband being murdered in front of you.

The next three days are hell. They take you over land because it’s a straight shot back to your hometown, quicker than taking the rounding edges of the sea, and you try to run away seven times only to be caught each time. You consider trying to kill yourself twice, stealing a blade when no one is looking, but you just can’t do it each time. A voice in your head tells you that maybe John is alive, maybe John is going to come save you, maybe you’ll be free again. You don’t believe it, but your time with John has made you a little stronger than you ever thought you could be.

They treat you like an unruly damsel and you hate it, but there isn’t much you can do about it. You hold on and you refuse to speak and you do everything you can to annoy them so maybe they’ll dump you on a roadside, but the time never comes.

The only time that comes is the time you arrive back at the manor you fled such a short time ago. Bile rises in your throat as Spades pushes the front gate open and one of the footmen meets you there with a mechanical smile welcoming you home after your harrowing kidnapping. You tip your chin up and stare straight ahead and resolutely refuse to cry.

You don’t even get time to take a breath really before things are underway. They’ve been waiting for this the entire time and now that you’re back, your wedding will be in three days. Another three, this one just as despondent as the last. You ache and you tip your head away from your father when he pats you on the head and kisses your cheek and welcomes his daughter home.

“We were so worried,” he says, quiet and even with a lack of intonation that you recognize, “when that pirate snatched you away that night. I sent those men out to search for you tirelessly so that we could bring you home.”

You almost vomit right on his shoes but you stare straight ahead instead, considering your options.

For now, you play along. That’s your  _ only _ option. “Thank you father,” you say, with as much deference as you always had as a child, “I’m happy to be home.” Your brother is standing off to the side and he catches your eye and you look away from him, ashamed that you got dragged back like this. Ashamed that you could do nothing to save your husband’s life. You should have stepped in front of the blade instead, let it pierce you instead of simply watching it press into John. You don’t take into account that it happened too fast for you to stop it, or that John wouldn’t have wanted you to die for him, or that there was no choice then either. You hate yourself too much to listen to the tiny voice in your head that sounds like John telling you that you can do this, you can be strong, you can get away and make a life without him and still be happy away from this prison.

You don’t want a life away from John, so it doesn’t matter.

The next three days are a flurry of activity: you get your gown refitted, your future husband is brought back to the town, your brother helps you cut your hair a bit more into a proper style even though it won’t matter when they put the tiara and veil on you anyway. Your father pretends that John cut your hair to steal you away more easily and you let him believe it because you want to speak to him as little as possible.

Your fiance is just as slimy as ever, bowing and kissing your hand and treating you like a blushing lady and touching your cheek with gloved hands to smile at you and promise you the life you deserve as his wife.

You smile mechanically and duck your head so that no one can see the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Finally, it’s the day of the wedding and in the morning Dave tries to boost you out of a window but you get caught at the last second and that plan is ruined. You squeeze his hand in thanks anyway and spend what little free time you have leaning on him, holding onto his fingers and staring ahead blankly. There’s nothing either of you can do. He apologizes so many times that it all blurs together and you shake your head and tell him that there’s no reason to be sorry because it isn’t his fault.

“Everything is father’s fault,” you tell him, even though you’re still blaming yourself for John’s death.

He leans on you a little harder and kisses your temple and for the first time since your escape you burst into tears and he just holds you close, letting you cry into his shoulder for as long as you need.

Eventually you have to pull yourself together and you barely manage as they dress you in silks and satins and lace and the only plus side of the corset is that you can shift it to flatten your chest just as much as your bindings used to. You feel a little better after that, but not much. Your fiance, Zebruh, is as “kind” as usual, which means he’s simpering and exotifying and you’re glad he never met John because he would have had some backwards compliment to say about the color of his skin, the arch of his brow, his wild hair. You know him well enough to know this.

He does the same thing to you to an extent but since you’re fair and strawberry blond there isn’t much for him to be that strange about.

Every moment you expect John to come and save you but he never does and you spend your last minutes a free man finding Dave again and holding hands, your head on his shoulder as he murmurs to you in a way that’s always soothed you, a soft rambling rumble that keeps you focused and saved you on so many nights. He’s good at it, at making you smile and laugh, but today you can’t even do that.

This wedding really will be in a church, and you climb carefully out of the carriage because you must, back straight and head held high. You’re glad that your face is covered because it means no one can see the absolutely dire state of your expression.

The music swells as you stand quietly and sourly near the edges of the room, and you start to walk down the aisle when you’re directed to, like you had to practice before you ran away, like you’ve been expected to your entire life. Zebruh is smiling at the altar and you feel the ache behind your eyes that you blink away because you must.

He takes your hands when you stand before the priest and he calls you beautiful and you grip his hands so hard and dig your nails in so viciously that he nearly yelps and makes a joke about your nervousness. “I’ll take good care of you,” he says, smiling in a way that makes you feel ill because you realize at the last moment what he thinks you’re anxious about and you practically dissociate right there at the mere idea of sharing a bed with him.

You keep your back straight and stare straight ahead once again as the priest has you recite your vows and you’re spending each moment trying to decide how best to fashion a noose out of the fabric of your gown so that you don’t have to live like this.

It’s a long ceremony, and boring even for the guests, but it’s nearing the end of things (and the end of your life, you decide once again, because you can’t take this) and the priest finally says it. He finally says it—

“—Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Several things happen at that. Dave stands and starts to speak, your father tries to smash him back down into the seat, and several of the stained glass windows of the church crash into tinkling shards at once.

You whirl around and see several people are pulling off what John only joked about before: they’ve come to do the most dramatic rescue of all. You see Karkat, and Jade, and Nepeta, and a woman you’ve never seen before with long wild hair and a sharp blue eye and a wicked cackle, but most importantly you see John.

You see John and your hand darts up to cover your mouth and you almost let out a sob of relief but you’re so happy to see him that you yank yourself away and run toward him, clinging to his arm. Dave is rushing over too and your father is yelling something but you’re not paying attention, you’re touching John’s face reverently and everyone is  _ talking _ because they were told you were  _ stolen _ , not that you’d  _ run away _ .

There’s a pause and then John pulls out his gun, the gun he never uses, and shoots the distractingly opulent chandelier which causes glass to tinkle and break and come raining down in the chaos and then he speaks.

“Thank you for coming to this farce,” he says, all smiles, and he takes off his hat to do a low bow, feather skimming the floor as he lifts his head to look at your father directly. “But I’m going to take  _ my _ husband home now.”

You can see a tension in John’s back that no one but you and his crew would recognize, and you remember he got stabbed only six days ago so you put a hand on his back gently, urging him to straighten.

He does, still beaming, and wraps an arm around your waist. “Darling,” he says, and your heart soars, “I think we should get going. We’ve made our point. Come home.”

You grin and nod. “Always and forever with you,” you say, and his smile could split the sky right open.

The whole church is in chaos and the woman you’ve never met swans up to usher you both outside, looking over her shoulder and grinning, single eye bright in the light. “Let’s get you both out of here before something else happens,” she chides, and you let out a laugh.

Your father’s men can’t catch you even though you’re all helping John keep upright on the way out and Dave is bolting with you, Karkat pulling him along, and you all weave through the town and you laugh, a wild and loose thing, as you’re led right back onto the  _ Jailbird _ while the sun sets on the horizon.

You hold John close, pressing your forehead to his as the ship pulls out of port and leaves the furious men on the shore. They’ll try to chase you, of course they will, but the  _ Jailbird _ is the fastest ship on all the seas and they’ll never catch you.

You kiss him as the moon rises and it finally sinks in that your new life is truly beginning.

Your final three is over and now you have always. Your heart soars—there’s no doubt in your mind that nothing will stop you again.


End file.
